


Lítilla sanda, lítilla sæva

by ArbitraryRambunctious (SheepOutTetradecagon)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Gen, Historical Hetalia, I'm really sorry for this, Viking Age, slightly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8024311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheepOutTetradecagon/pseuds/ArbitraryRambunctious
Summary: It is the year 1000 AD, and Norway finds himself in a battle he can't afford to lose. As a Viking, the young nation is more than capable of fighting for his country.However, this time he's up against an enemy he can't bear to kill.His own family.This fic is based upon the battle of svolder and this piece of fanart by norwaythememelord and me





	Lítilla sanda, lítilla sæva

What felt more like the winds mocking anyone who dared set a foot outside, rather than a cold breeze, brushed past a small figure huddled up in the back of a majestic longboat. The many men in the same boat had grim expressions plastered to their rough faces, a wide array of weapons clutched in their cold fists. It was a cloudy day, the air chilly with the promise of the autumn soon to come. Waves were lazily tapping against the hulls of wooden boats as they languidly drifted forwards, and the screams of sea gulls were ever-present, high pitched by the promise of an oncoming battle. They would have something to feast on soon enough.

 The figure, unlike the others was comfortable situated in the back of the boat, cloak tightly pulled around its shoulders as it quietly watched the sea. He was smaller than the others, face still young with a slight chubbiness to it, but fearsome nonetheless. A child compared to the rest of his crew, but they knew better. He was there for a good reason, and none of the men would ever dare to underestimate him.

 A commotion from a different place in the boat shook Norway out of his thoughts, his eyes scanning the many men in front of him to find his king shouting at one of the men. He sighed and focused his gaze out to sea again, not particularly caring for their quarrel, meaningless as they were. In the end, the only thing that remained was he and his kin. He had long since accepted this truth.

 

  _Deyr fé,_

_deyja frændr_

 

Another fleet was visible now, and the young nation could tell that a battle was fast approaching. He let his eyes drift down to the sword in his left hand, clutching his shield tightly in his right, ignoring the sting of the cold metal. The men around him were starting to get restless, energy buzzing in the air as they made themselves ready to defend the ship until their dying breath, to defend _him_. Briefly, he caught the eye of his king, his boss, who was standing proudly on the sternpost. His helmet gleamed in the dull light made by the clouds blocking the sun, and there was something frightful over him as he regarded the ocean with stern eyes.

 An odd feeling that couldn’t be described as anything but pride surged through Norway, his body feeling lighter and calmer with the knowledge that this was the man who was currently leading his people. He felt safe and sure that this would be over soon. Maybe he could visit Iceland when he got back?

 His musings were cut short by the shouting of people and the sound of boats crashing together. It had started.

 The voices around him grew louder as he made his way past the masses of fighting bodies, the smell of sweat and blood reaching his nostrils. It was a familiar scent, but unpleasantly so, and not for the first time that day, he wished that he could be home. Home within the confines of the walls of his little house, safely hidden up in the Norwegian mountains.

 He was, however, on a very important mission, caught in a battle he couldn’t afford to lose.

 

A big man came hurtling towards him, catching him off guard for a moment before he quite registered the threat. A flash of pain hit him as the man’s axe cut through the skin on his cheek, leaving a shallow gash. He sighed inwardly, lamenting the man’s mistake. With a swift move without even flinching, he drove his sword through the man’s gut, watching his eyes widen in fear, blood spilling out of his mouth. _I’m sorry._

 Norway often wondered what people felt before as their lives slipped between their fingers, their last sight an unchanging cold expression on a face far too young for the cruelty of battle, unbeknownst of the old mind that resided within.

_deyr sjalfr it sama,_

 

The sword in his hand felt heavy, the blood of many men still tainting the sharp edges. It clung to the small cracks in the metal, never really disappearing no matter how many times he wiped it clean.

 Normally he would have opted for using his spells, but while they worked well for surprise raids on unaware villages, it was too taxing for longer battles like the one he was currently fighting. He was however, not incompetent with a sword, but unlike his magic it weighed and slowed him down considerably.

 Still, he knew better than to let himself be tricked into simple short-sighted solutions. Especially when up against _these_ foes.

 As the battles wore on, he was starting to feel out of breath, the sound of blood squelching beneath his boots ringing in his ears. Still, he had yet to meet any of _them_. Their armies, on the other hand, were everywhere. Faceless soldiers, who would soon be forgotten, lost to history.

 

_en orðstírr_

_deyr aldregi,_

 

He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he could tune out the loud screams. Wishing he was somewhere far away; somewhere tranquil, with Iceland and the rest of his family peacefully enjoying each other’s company. For a moment, he bitterly wondered if that would ever be the case.

 Another man went down in front of him, his search for glory and honour cut short by a slit throat. However, the relief of having one less foe to worry about was short lived, as he felt his feet being knocked out from underneath him, sending him flailing into the shallow waters.

 The cold water surrounded him on every side, the taste of other men's blood filling his mouth. As he fought his way to the surface, he could feel his calm demeanour starting to slip away, his heart beating painfully against his ribs. Still, he refused to acknowledge it as fear; he couldn’t afford such frivolities.

 Crawling away from the churning masses of water and blood, he managed to get himself to solid ground, mountains towering in front of him. His cloak was heavy with water, but he heaved himself up anyway, taking a look around.

 Most men were at the boats, the opposing alliance doing their best to board _Ormen lange_ while his men struggled valiantly against the oncoming waves of bodies. He felt a pang of guilt for having retreated from the midst of it all. Repressing the unwelcome feelings, he gripped his sword tighter, ready to charge into the heat of battle again, when a kick to his back sent him sprawling, his face meeting the ground for the second time that day.

 A familiar presence made the air thick with tension, and he didn’t need to turn around to know who had ambushed him. A slight smile tugged on his lips, gone by the time he had turned around again.

 

“So you’re here after all?”  

 

He tried to sit up, but was prevented from it by a battle-axe pressing down against his throat. “Not so fast Norge. There’s no need to hurry, now is it?” A laugh was threatening to spill past his lips, but he kept his face stern and expressionless, eyeing the young man in front of him. Although he had expected to run into his “brothers” here, he had never really had any idea of what he thought it’d be like.

 It had been a good while since they’d last met, and they had not parted on good terms. With their leaders always egging each other on and the Dane relentlessly grasping at his southern borders, there was rarely time for a peaceful encounter between them anymore.

 He stared at the young boy in front of him. His face like norway’s own deceivingly young in appearance, blond hair wild and unruly and smile sadistically joyful despite the utter devastation that was taking place merely a stonecast away. With an annoyed huff, Norway realized the Dane had grown taller since the last time they met. _He’s leeching off my lands, the bastard._

 For anyone else, the movement might have gone amiss, but Norway had known the danish boy for most of his life. The way he was subtly changing the weight on his feet, and the way his fingers were constantly changing the grip on his axe. _He’s growing impatient._ Deciding to indulge him for once, if only to get the other to remove his axe from its resting position on his throat, Norway heaved a dramatic sigh, refusing to look at his friend/enemy as he stated his question.

 

“What is it you want Den?”

 

The smile that lit up Denmark’s face was almost worth the humiliation of caving in to his wishes. It annoyed the Norwegian how hard it was to resent the guy sometimes. Denmark paused, as if he was pondering on the question, making a show of looking off into the air, tapping his cheek with his free hand. To Norway’s growing frustration, both because of his vulnerable position, but also because he was starting to get rather cold, the Dane still didn’t let him go. Annoying.

 “Rumour have it your boss have been very harsh in his quest to for power. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that he has made quite a few great enemies while at it.” Norway snorted, shaking his head, only to feel the cold steel digging into his skin, almost piercing the soft tissue. “I can see why he calls you a cowardly bunch. Here you are, safe away from the fight, bragging about your own greatness. If you’re so strong, why don’t you take me on yourself, or do you really need Sweden’s help? Not as if it matters since we already brought his ships down before I came here. You’re not even brave enough to speak with me without an axe to my throat.”

 Something flashed in the Dane’s blue eyes, his expression growing serious. “I’m not joking Nor. The spoils promised if we win this one isn’t something we could say no to. You would have done the same thing.” Norway felt a chill run down his spine, eyes narrowing at the words. “What spoils?” Denmark hesitated, as if afraid to tell him, but relented with a sigh. “One third of your lands and whatever we can take of boats and such. But before you say anything, listen Nor. Don’t you miss it?”

 

Knowing where this was going, the young nation averted his gaze again. He wanted to block the words out; he wanted to refuse to listen to his own thoughts reflected back at him. His hands remained firmly on his weapons. “I mean, we never do anything but fight anymore. If we could share your lands peacefully, then maybe we could hang out more. You would still have that one third, one of yours is on our side too and-” “ _Lade_ can rot in _Hel_ for all I care,” he spat, before realizing his mistake. Denmark noticed it too, and let out a snort, giving him a disdainful look. He kicked the dirt in front of him. “You know Norge, you always act like you’re all great and loyal to your leader, and make fun of how we boast about ourselves, but in the end, you’re just really hypocritical. Christian my ass, you’re still just as much a believer in the old ways as the rest of us.”

 Clenching his eyes shut, Norway tried not to let the words affect him. He tried to convince himself that the words were empty insults, but he knew that even though he had stood loyal by Olav Tryggvason’s side when he went through with his harsh conversion of his people, he had felt a sting of guilt, watching what was once something he was proud over burn to the ground. Felt the pain of his people screaming out in protest as their old beliefs became outlawed. He could feel his eyes starting to fill with unshed tears, feeling more than ever the need to take out his anger in battle before anyone had the chance to notice. His throat was constricting from the lack of air and repressed cries.

 And then, the pressure at his throat disappeared. He opened his eyes, blinking up at the other boy, who had swung his axe back over his shoulder. Not daring to get back on his feet out of fear from it all being a trap, he shuffled backwards, putting some distance between himself and Denmark. He watched silently and made no move to follow.

 

“I never intended to hurt you. You’re my best friend. I just hoped that we could get to an agreement.” The hurt was obvious in the other’s voice, making Norway’s anger flare up again. How dared he to be hurt by this? He wasn’t the one risking losing his lands.

 

With an angry growl, Norway got onto his feet, charging at the unprepared boy in front of him, landing a blow against his unprotected shoulder. The Dane let out a surprised yelp, but was quick to protect himself. They hacked and slashed at each other for what felt like an eternity. By the time that the sun was no longer visible, they were both sustaining severe injuries that would have killed a normal mortal man. However, they kept going at it, their blood colouring the ground.

 Although his anger was still there, Norway was starting to feel strangely winded. Almost unnoticeable at first, but slowly, his blows got weaker and he was unable to parry the still unending barrel of blows from the other. It didn’t go unnoticed by Denmark who just increased the intensity, swinging his axe like he could make Norway see his view of things by beating it into him.

 Realizing he couldn’t win like this, he gave in, and with a huge effort, he managed to fling Denmark’s axe away with a rushed incantation. He fell to his knees, his last reserves of energy fading away from him. Denmark himself was heaving heavily, but he was still standing, eyeing the place his axe had landed as if trying to calculate whether he’d be able to reach it without being taken down from behind.

 

“ _That_ , was a cheap trick Norge. But I admit it; you really had me fooled there.” Refusing to answer Norway turned his gaze to the boats again, understanding finally dawning on him. There wasn’t many people left on _ormen lange_ , and his king was starting to become outnumbered by the _jarlsmenn._ He sprang to his feet, drawing Denmark’s attention to it as well.

 It happened before he had much of a chance to do anything. As Norway sprang forwards, the two men up on the sternpost made a run for it and jumped into the ocean. Watching in disbelief, Norway froze as his king disappeared into the water, the waves obscuring him as Lade’s men surged forward, trying to capture them. It didn’t take long after that before the rest of Norway’s men realized the battle was lost and followed their leader into the waves.

 

_hveim er sér góðan getr._

 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. He didn’t realize that he was shaking before he was pulled into a hug from behind, strong hands keeping his weary body still. He closed his eyes, tuning out the words whispered into his hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

 

Norway couldn’t quite swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

 

* * *

 

_Deyr fé,_

_deyja frændr,_

_deyr sjalfr it sama,_

_ek veit einn,_

_at aldrei deyr:_

_dómr um dauðan hvern._

**Author's Note:**

> Some explanations:  
> Ormen Lange: A famous longboat  
> Norge-Norway  
> Lade: Area in Norway ruled by the earl of Lade at the time. They are an own character in this piece.  
> Hel: the underworld in Norse mythology  
> Jarlsmenn: The men of the Ladejarl (the earl of Lade)
> 
> This work is inspired by the poem "håvamål" which is written in old norse
> 
> The title means shallow sands, shallow seas.
> 
> As for the poem itself it translates to:  
> Cattle die, friends die,  
> like you yourself die  
> But the word of you never dies  
> The fame that you have won
> 
> Cattle die,  
> Friends die  
> like you yourself die  
> I know something that never dies  
> The doom on each one dead
> 
> Hope you enjoyed  
> Come and say hi at [my tumblr](https://sheepouttetradecagon.tumblr.com/)!


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